


Solos About Duets

by voleuse



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-18
Updated: 2005-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Others been lonely so long they're used to making do</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solos About Duets

**Author's Note:**

> S3, no spoilers. Title and summary adapted from Stephen Cushman's _Another Anniversary of Appomattox_.

It's Halloween, and to Angel, that means no impending apocalypse to avert, no ritual demon sacrifice to prevent.

It means he can watch the others toss candy corn at each other and ignore their jokes about costumes and monsters and scaring small children. Eventually, Cordelia leaves for a party, swinging her hips and tossing a smile over her shoulder.

The rest of them drink beer and trade demon-slaying stories. Close to midnight, Wesley answers a call about Satan worshippers, and sighs. He tosses a taser to Gunn. "Come on."

"It's probably a false alarm," Angel says.

Wesley shrugs. "Best to be on the safe side." He and Gunn make their way to the door.

Angel sits up. "I could come--"

"No." Wesley waves a careless hand. "Probably a false alarm." And then they're gone.

Angel slouches back in his seat.

Fred clears her throat. "So."

*

 

Angel isn't sure how it happened, but Fred convinces him to accompany her out. Not for trick-or-treating, but meandering, watching the festivities.

He's pretty sure it had something to do with her long spiel about missing out on things from her childhood, and how she never got to eat anything sweet while she was still a cow. And then she started in on a description of what, exactly, she ended up eating in Pylea, and he thinks that's around the time he agreed to the outing out of sheer self-preservation.

Somehow, they bypass the impromptu parties on littered sidewalks, and end up in a quieter neighborhood. The streets are narrower, a little darker, and Angel can hear children laughing nearby.

The air smells like smoke and flowers, and every corner features an impromptu altar, piled with candles and candy, photos and bouquets.

They stop by one of the altars, and he reaches out. Pokes a cloth skeleton, all hesitance, and Fred tugs on his elbow.

"Over there," she says, pointing to a brighter part of the street. There are people milling around a courtyard, and he lets her pull him into the light.

*

 

He buys Fred, over her protests, a handful of sweet bread, and a styrofoam cup filled with thick hot chocolate. She sips it, swipes her tongue over her lips.

"Good?" he asks.

She hums, smiles. "A little spicy, I think."

He smells the cinnamon of the drink, and remembers what it was like to taste.

They walk down the street in silence. It's quieter now, but in the distance, they can hear the echoes of merry chaos.

At the end of the block, Fred stops at another altar. "Do you have any matches?" she asks.

Angel digs into his pockets, finds an old lighter. She murmurs thanks, and methodically lights all the candles that had gone out.

She hands the lighter back to Angel with a shrug. "It's probably a fire hazard, but."

Angel tucks the lighter back into his pocket. "Let's go home." He offers her his arm, because it seems like the thing to do.

She giggles, and together, they stroll back into the crowds.


End file.
